


Unconditional

by ShootToKrill



Category: RWBY
Genre: Abusive Parents, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Pre-Series, Schneesters, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShootToKrill/pseuds/ShootToKrill
Summary: Weiss never thought she'd escape her family. Winter never imagined she'd return to it.Just how much either one will risk for a sister they barely know is anyone's guess.





	1. Thaw

Disclaimer: I don't own RWBY or any associated characters.

* * *

Weiss ekes out her childhood with all the independence of a caged songbird.

She learns early on not to trust the servants or her brother. Father's investment, as with her as it is in business, is framed by a long list of terms and conditions to be met. And, until she learns how to pour herself into a glass, she is of little interest to Mother.

And Winter is... an enigma, a stranger wearing a sister's skin. She barely remembers her, having been raised "kept safe from Winter's bad influence” even before the elder Schnee was disinherited.

Why wouldn't she believe the repeated stories about Winter’s wayward behaviour, with neither evidence to the contrary nor motivation to question what she's told?

Weiss is a _good_ girl, the heiress to the Schnee Dust Company - and as she's often reminded, it isn't the place of a good daughter to question Father or his stories.

Children, after all, want to believe that their parents know best.

So she grows up, like a weed between paving slabs, occupying the little space she can find between Whitley's toadying and Winter's conspicuous absence. Any small transgression, any backtalk, any outward sign of independent thought, and the warning is growled again in her ear:

"You don’t want to end up like your sister, _do you_?"

And Weiss has no choice but to shake her head meekly, for her own sake, because there was nobody else to fight her corner.

Winter wasn’t there to help her, and never had been.

* * *

 Sometimes she wants to hate her sister, this inconsistent presence who left a fractured family in her wake and thrust the mantle of the family's reputation onto her.

But as Weiss ages, her anger recedes like an outgoing tide, ebbing away to leave in its place a fierce curiosity that not even Jacques can quash entirely. Weiss hovers on the precipice of her teenage years with no friends to speak of and a young mind buzzing with questions.

They looked so alike in the portraits - were they alike in other ways? Did Winter sing? What had she been like as a schoolgirl? Might they - in another time, or another family - have been fast friends; sharing clothes and advice and gossip, bickering like normal sisters?

In the dead of night, Weiss slips from her bedroom, logs into the CCT and pulls up all the information she can about Winter Schnee.

She finds a veritable treasure trove of information: school photographs, a stellar academic history, not to mention a decorated Atlesian military record achieved at a remarkably young age.

And suddenly, Winter doesn’t seem like such an awful person. She's certainly done no discernible harm to their family's honour: quite the opposite, in fact.

But these impersonal details, while awe-inspiring, are merely fragments of a life lived. Weiss feels intimidated, then proud, and finally determined to learn more about this talented sister she barely knows.

She summons all her courage one night at dinner. Stomach roiling with nerves, she sets down her silverware and addresses her father directly, politely asking whether she might be permitted to contact Winter.

The bruises her father leaves - "shaking some sense into her”, he called it - take over a week to fade.

* * *

 Weiss is still a little sore days later, waiting for her chauffeur after school. It is raining hard, and she huddles a little more snugly in her coat as droplets pummel the material.

The sleek white car bearing the Schnee Dust Company's crest appears just as Weiss’ teeth start chattering. The driver’s side window rolls down, and the girl’s mouth drops open.

_“Klein?”_

The butler - in truth, the closest thing Weiss has to a confidante - inclines his head.

"Sincerest apologies for my late arrival, Miss Schnee. Unfortunately your chauffeur was taken ill today, and what with this dreadful rain, I myself volunteered to fetch you."

Weiss is taken aback. The servants have given her a wide berth since her 'indiscretion' at the dining table. Father's orders, she thinks - or too much of a conscience to dance favours on her, after being forced to bear silent witness to her punishment.

She can't blame them. Her tears were worth less than their jobs, at the end of the day.

"But if Father - "

"I'm sure Master, wise as he is, would concur that this is no weather for his own blood to be standing out on the street courting a chill," Klein interrupts as he steps out of the car, producing an umbrella to shield himself and Weiss from the downpour. "It just wouldn't be seemly for the heiress to the Schnee Dust Company to be seen trailing the streets like a drowned rat, now, would it?"

Weiss smiles gratefully as he holds the back door open for her. His diplomacy may well have spared her another taste of Father's discipline, quite apart from his arrival saving her a damp trudge back to the manor.

“Thank you, Klein.”

“My pleasure, ma'am,” he replies. His eyes are yellow today, and sparkling with mirth.

Weiss settles herself in the back seat, raindrops tumbling off her coat to splash the leather seats. As the engine purrs into life, she discards her satchel, pulls down her hood - and nearly screams when, with her peripheral vision now unobstructed, she spots the other occupant of the rear passenger seats.

The person staring back at her is familiar, older now than in the photos; taller, cheeks more angular, figure more womanly. Her back is ramrod straight, military posture, but her blue eyes are wide with what could be something close to fear.

Klein peers between the front two seats, watching her reaction carefully.

"Miss Schnee? Are you quite well?”

“Yes”, both passengers answer in unison.

And Winter’s restraint melts for once, a delighted smile bursting across her face like a sunbeam from behind a cloud, as her little sister flings herself into her arms.


	2. Subterfuge

Disclaimer: RWBY ain't mine. 

* * *

"A social engagement?"

Weiss bobs her head. "Yes, Father."

His moustache bristles. "And who, pray tell, put it into your head that your social engagements were to be of your choosing?"

She squirms. "Nobody! I - I apologise, Father. I won't trouble you further."

Jacques Schnee regards his daughter imperiously. He had been somewhat... firm with the girl, of late. Her absurd request to contact the _other one_ had been the final straw in his long week of falling stocks and interference from the damnable White Fang - yet even he had to admit he'd been concerned sending her off to school after he'd spotted the marks on her arms.

Teaching the girl respect was his duty as a father, but some of the liberal nonsense touted as 'welfare' nowadays... Well. He'd instructed the servants to lay out outfits with full sleeves for Weiss that week.

He had to watch his step. If the girl seemed unhappy, people might ask questions. The Schnee Dust Company was a family business, and tongues had begun to cluck after the _other one_ disgraced them, not to mention at his wife's dwindling public appearances.

"Fallen ill"? Fallen down drunk was more apt. If she'd fallen, instead, into a coma... ah, well. Every man has a dream.

He eyes Weiss as she shrinks away from him. "There's no need for histrionics, child. Perhaps we could come to an agreement. To what, exactly, have you been invited?"

He's almost proud of the girl as she stands up straight, sounding for once like an heiress as she responds "Father, please. Schnees do not accept 'invitations'. After my performance at the gala, Sienna Sable all but begged me to attend chorus rehearsal with her. I was merely gracious enough to extend my consideration."

He crooks an eyebrow, chuckling. "Your consideration, snowdrop?"

She blushes prettily, as she does when his guests compliment her on her voice or comportment. He found it almost charming. "I beg your pardon, Father. Of course, the decision is yours."

He makes a show of twirling his moustache as if deep in thought.

 _Children_. Give them an inch and they'd take a mile, take liberties, take their family name and drag it through the mud. It would never do for the two still safely under his roof to believe they had any sway with him. With the unfortunate state of their mother, they needed his instruction - but he needed them to remain obedient.

Weiss had already taken the stick, and a sharp shock to remind her of her place seemed to have done her a world of good. Over the past months, she hadn't so much as lifted her gaze out of turn. Perhaps now was time for the carrot.

"Hmm. Is this classmate of yours a suitable companion?"

"Her grades are consistently high, though her sight reading is poor."

"And her behaviour?"

She stares at the floor. "I... heard she once received a detention for speaking out of turn during an inspection."

Jacques sighs, massaging his temples. "You do worry me, Weiss. Why would you want to waste your time fraternising with such rabble? If you want for company, you need only ask. Several of my associates have children close to your age of more... worthy stock."

"I - I just thought it might be _fun_ to sing with a group for once" she confesses, before continuing hurriedly as if to bury her moment's frivolity. "And perhaps my example could be a help to Sienna. My grades, singing and behavioural record are all second to none - it can be done, with hard work and self-discipline."

He smiles indulgently. "And for these values, to whom do you owe your thanks?"

"You, Father."

He cups his ear. "I didn't hear you, child."

"Thank you, Father."

"Have this girl's details on my desk by day's end. Name, student ID, address and contact number should suffice. I will consider your request, but for now, there is business I must attend to. Be on your way now."

She curties. With her head bowed, he hears rather than sees her smile as she thanks him once again.

And though he will have his assistant verify the Sable girl's details, Jacques will give little thought to his daughter's schedule, his focus drawn by more pressing business matters.

How easy it is to keep them grateful, he thinks as he waves her away. _Yes, this is how the game is played._

* * *

Behind the locked door of her bedroom, Weiss is typing furiously.

"It's done. I think it's a yes."

The reply flashes on the screen almost immediately.

"Excellent work. We proceed as arranged."

Weiss deletes the message as instructed, her delighted smile illuminated by the bluish light of her Scroll.

They could play games, too.


	3. Paranoia

_Be ready._

That was all the message had said.

Or had it? Though Weiss had dutifully cleared her inbox, she almost regrets it now, wishing she could just check _once_ more that she'd understood it exactly right.

It seemed impossible that this could really be happening. She had lied! Right to Father's face! The thrill of rebellion mingles with the gnawing anxiety building in her chest, leaving the young heiress feeling almost febrile with anticipation.

Klein's brown eyes rest on Weiss' image in the rearview mirror.

“There's no need to fret, Miss Schnee. She hasn't forgotten you.”

“I wasn't… I mean – how did you know?”

Klein chuckles. “My service to your family predates your birth, little snowflake - I can tell. And I think nerves are quite understandable. This is… rather a unique situation.”

That it most certainly was. If Jacques Schnee had had any inkling that his daughter was in an unauthorised vehicle, commandeered by his butler and parked down a dingy side-alley, his gasp of horror might've made a vacuum of Atlas itself.

But, thanks to Winter, their clandestine meeting was a well-kept secret. When Jacques' PA had, as predicted, made inquiries about the fictitious 'Sienna Sable', the details she had been instructed to provide had all checked out. Weiss couldn't imagine the trickery involved.

Klein, too, had exercised every caution on their journey – a brief drive prolonged by doubling back and driving down side streets before stopping halfway at a private garage. Here he had ushered Weiss out of the Schnee limousine, leaving it behind in favour of a small, unmarked car in black. Dumbstruck, she'd obeyed, as Klein adjusted his wing mirror, reminded her to fasten her seatbelt and continued their journey as if nothing had happened.

And finally, here she was, fidgeting in the passenger seat as she nervously awaited the signal - the details of which, to Weiss' mounting annoyance, had so far been withheld from her. 

“What exactly are we waiting _for_?” she asks impatiently, from underneath the hood of her borrowed overcoat. A nondescript beige affair, she had been told to wear it, no doubt as an additional precautionary measure.

The butler's smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “That, Miss, if you'll forgive me, is for me to know and for young ladies such as yourself to wonder.”

Weiss scowls. Klein's laughter echoes in the cramped car like the toll of a church bell.

“Oh, how you do remind me of your sister. She was never content with a question half-answered.”

At this, she brightens. “Truly?”

“Very much so. Driven, inquisitive… not above bending a few rules if circumstances were unjust. Does that remind you of anyone?”

“Hmph!” Weiss' show of indignation is let down by the irrepressible quirk of her lips.

The butler's smile is fond, but fades slowly into a look of apprehension. “Miss Schnee, my dear, may I speak freely?”

“Always.” Her smile is guileless and unguarded. Klein sighs, reluctant to clip his songbird's wings on her first flight of defiance.

“Please... do be careful. Your sister's priority has always been your wellbeing, as has mine. I should hate for anything to spoil this happy day for you. You are sisters, yes, but she is a soldier. One does not rise so quickly through the ranks of the military without due vigilance, and few have more cause to be wary than she.”

“Winter can handle herself", Weiss sniffs.

He rests a hand on her shoulder. “Your confidence in her is by no means misplaced. I myself am most honoured, and touched, by the trust each of you have placed in me today. But out of my boundless respect for your sister and the path she has forged, I must implore you: do as she says, _exactly_ as she says, and… try not to expect too much. You must be very excited, and I am delighted for you. But for your mutual safety, she may only think it prudent to meet you for a quarter of an hour - “

“Which is a quarter hour more than I've ever had to spend alone with her before!” interrupts Weiss. “This is – more than I ever dreamed of, Klein. Don't worry. I'm not going to spoil anything.” Her expressions clouds. “I've had plenty of practice at following rules.”

Klein's irises flicker russet, then red. “You and I both, Miss Schnee.”

Suddenly, his gaze shifts, attention grabbed by something high up on the wall of one of the dilapidated buildings outside. His hand flies from Weiss' shoulder to the inside of his waistcoat.

A cold spike of fear pierces the girl like a stalactite. “Klein? What is it? What - “

“Be _quiet_.”

Never before has he spoken to her so sharply. Weiss is startled into submission as she cranes her neck, peering wide-eyed through the glass on the driver's side to follow his line of vision.

In a second-floor window, a light winks off, then flashes again. Klein retracts his hand, mopping his brow as he turns back to his passenger.

“I beg your pardon, madam. I didn't mean to frighten you, but the elder Miss Schnee's brief was most specific.”

Weiss' fearful expression slackens. “You mean -”

He inclines his head. “She is expecting you. The code, I believe, is 'dust'.”

 _Fitting._ Suddenly she is shy, acutely aware of her vulnerability, feeling not a moment older than her thirteen years. “Klein – I -”

“Go on.” His tone is professional yet paternal, steel over silk. “Don't be afraid, Miss Schnee. Whenever you need me, rest assured, I will be here.”

Weiss' parting smile is radiant with gratitude. “You always are.”

* * *

Klein has pulled in so close to the entryway that she almost scrapes the car door on the wall as she exits. With a shaking hand, she enters the numbers corresponding to the code: 3, 8, 7, 8.

The intercom fizzes into life.

“Speak.” 

“...It's me.” _No names_ , she remembers. _It's safest this way._ Her lips are dry. As she moistens them, she notices the domed camera above the keypad, and feels queasy. Winter's? Or were they both being watched?

“Second floor, left. _Speak to nobody_.”

The door opens. Weiss hurries under the parapet, her nape prickling, conscious of her every move being tracked – by Klein, and who knew how many others. Doubt and fear have seeped through her earlier joy like blood on snow.

_What have I done?_


	4. Disclosure

Winter's apartment is sparsely furnished, a single room with an adjoining bathroom so tiny that Weiss had initially mistaken it for a closet. The sheets on the single bed are crisp and pristine, and the clothes Weiss spies hanging on a rail seem to consist only of sharply creased military dress and starched business attire. A safe stands in place of a bedside cabinet; upon it, a silver alarm clock. The bare walls leave a large water stain on the ceiling as the closest thing to decoration. 

Weiss is perched on a folding chair, seated before a metal table which reflects the harsh halogen light and wouldn't look out of place in a prison. Her sister has set out two china cups on saucers, complete with matching milk jug and sugar bowl. The fine painted detail of the crockery is totally at odds with Winter's spartan living quarters, a better fit for the family manor. Weiss wonders briefly whether she might've taken them from home.

Her sister has barely spoken since she ushered Weiss in through the thrice-locked door. She is occupied with the coffee pot, its faint bubbling and hissing the only sounds save for the faint tick of the clock.

"I like your apartment", Weiss ventures. 

"It's no palace, but it's more than adequate for my needs. I spend the majority of my time away."

"Doing what?"

"Classified." Winter pours coffee for each of them, the liquid dark as a rotting tooth.

"...Thank you."

"You are welcome." Winter seats herself primly on the opposite chair. Her attire matches the decor, a slate grey pencil skirt and a white shirt with a neckline so high and tight Weiss is surprised her sister could swallow. With sweaty palms, she smooths her own pinafore, sitting a little straighter in her chair.

“So…” Winter coughs, glancing around before finally settling her gaze on Weiss. “How… was school today?”

The question is so _trite_ , so mundane and normal amidst the strangeness of the situation, that Weiss nearly laughs. And suddenly, it strikes the girl that she may not be the only one struggling with nerves.

“My day was fine, thank you. Nothing out of the ordinary... until Klein arrived to collect me, of course.”

“It must have been somewhat alarming. I regret having to keep you so ill-informed, but often it's wisest to have only the information you need.”

“I understand.”

The older woman's expression hardens. “No, you do not. But that is of no relevance.”

There is a long pause. Weiss stares at her hands, then feels ill-mannered for doing so. Looking up, she catches Winter worrying her lip.

“I apologise. I am… not accustomed to guests, I'm afraid.”

“I don't mind,” she answers hurriedly. “I – I don't get out much, either.”

At this, Winter grimaces. “You don't say. I trust you're enjoying chorus rehearsal, regardless?”

“I – oh!” It takes a long moment – too long, she realises – for their cover story to come back to her, but she manages to find her voice, feeling her sister's eyes on her like crosshairs. “Yes, thank you, it was... a splendid afternoon.”

“You will need to do better if Father asks. Best not to act as though you enjoyed yourself too much, though, or he will be suspicious. Remember, you are -”

“- a Schnee,” echoes Weiss dully, “and my duty is to my family and our company.”

Her sister forces a hollow laugh. “I know how it feels to recite _that_ line.”

“But you – got out,” the girl manages. “And now you're in the military! I looked you up, before -”

“I am aware.” Winter's tone is sharp, but not unkind. “And afterwards you felt compelled to ask Father, of all people, for further information?”

The memory of that disastrous night leaves Weiss cringing. She takes a mouthful of coffee just for something to do with her hands, finds it still too hot and much too bitter. Her shudder as she forces it down doesn't go unnoticed, and Winter tugs the cup from her with a wry look.

“Cream, and how many sugars?”

“...Two, please,” she stammers. At this, to her surprise, Winter _smiles_ _,_ seeming to startle even herself, as she passes the cup back in an unnecessary hurry.

“Unsurprising. Klein always indulged me with the same. I had… something of a sweet tooth, as a child.”

Weiss peeks over the rim of her cup. “Father insists I appreciate the taste and drink it _properly_.”

“Father isn't here. You don't have to stand on ceremony for me.” Winter reaches across the table and awkwardly pats her free hand. Weiss can see her own uncertainty mirrored in her sister's face.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. Winter's hand remains on hers; a stilted gesture, but well-meant and not entirely uncomfortable. She is _trying,_ they both are, navigating this most unusual sisterly tête-à-tête with the grace of one fumbling for a light switch in a dark hallway.

_Tick, tick, tick._

“He hurt you.” It is a statement, not a question. Weiss is sure by now that Klein has told Winter everything. She bows her head, unsure whether she should answer, or how to begin.

“I am sorry,” Winter continues. “I – have long been aware of his inclination toward force. It is improper for anybody to believe that wealth entitles them to behave in such a manner.”

The coffee cup swims before her. Weiss blinks hard, forcing herself to focus on the floral pattern about the rim. She will _not_ spoil their afternoon with childish blubbering.

The hesitant squeeze of her sister's hand almost undoes her efforts. “Weiss. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she does. It could be the light, or her own blurred vision - but for a moment she could've sworn on Grandfather's ghost that Winter had looked a little tearful, too.

“I was… far less adept than you at playing the dutiful heiress. I was willful. I refused to affect conformity. I made mistakes, and those mistakes have cost you dearly.”

“You came back for me,” Weiss counters. “You don't need to -”

“Let me finish. I am under no illusions as to how things can be at… home. I could have offered more comfort to you, were it not for my own rash behaviour. You seem to have managed admirably all the same.” She sighs heavily, finally drawing back her hand to sip delicately at her drink. “Time is short. Let us speak frankly. How is Mother?”

Weiss' shoulders sag. “I barely see her. Mostly, she's indisposed. Her health has been poor, since you left - migraines, a stomach complaint – not that it's your fault!” she hastens to add, afraid of causing offence. Winter rolls her eyes.

“She is drunk. It's about time you understood that much at least. It's always been a habit, but it appears that in my absence it's become routine. I suspected as much.”

“How did you know? Did Klein -” Weiss falls silent as Winter raises her hand.

“I have my ways.”

All this mystery and evasiveness is becoming downright _infuriating_ , but Weiss bites her tongue. “...Of course. I apologise.”

Winter waves her hand. “You have every right to ask questions, providing you don't expect them all to be answered – at least, not right away.” She raises an eyebrow. “And tell me, how is baby brother?”

Weiss groans. “He's a _grub_. I can't so much as practise my scales without him running to Father with some tale or another.”

Winter's lips are pursed as she suppresses a smile. “There's one in every family. Be glad you have more sense.”

“He takes Whitley _everywhere._ That little brat gets whatever he wants.”

Winter snorts. “Oh? Tell me, Weiss, what have _you_ been lacking for recently?”

“I – well… I only meant…”

And in the true manner of older siblings everywhere, it's the sight of her teenage sister squirming with embarrassment that finally makes Winter laugh out loud.

“...Hey! That wasn't funny.”

“Oh, but it was,” Winter smirks. “I appreciate that our family can be difficult, but you are still the heiress of one of the wealthiest businesses in Remnant, with servants at your beck and call, and no need ever to worry where your next meal will come from. It's rather amusing to hear _you_ call somebody else spoiled.”

Weiss can only stare, tongue-tied. Winter softens slightly as her younger sister's blush deepens.

“Forgive my teasing. But really, Weiss, you're growing up, and it's time you became more aware of the world around you. Things are happening on a far grander scale than the Schnee Dust Company. Someday, if you inherit the business, you will need to grasp how the world works, and you won't do that if your understanding extends only as far as the mansion gate.”

Weiss pouts sulkily, which elicits another burst of laughter from Winter. “I understand plenty. I watch the VNN. I read the newspaper. I'm set to end this year top of my grade, and -”

“Yes, yes, _most_ impressive. But knowledge alone is nothing. It's imperative for your safety that you become aware of the systems at play, and your role within them.”

At this, Weiss bristles with teenage precociousness. “I _know_ where I stand. I'm to inherit the company and continue our legacy as Grandfather would've wanted. I'll put a stop to the Faunus interference, and -”

The cups clatter in their saucers as Winter slams her hand down on the table.

“Weiss. You aren't _listening_. This isn't an interrogation. I am not Father, and you have nothing to prove to me.”

The younger Schnee shrinks back in her chair as Winter presses on.

“You are a very capable girl, with the opportunity to use your intelligence and wealth to make a real difference. Yes, you are heiress to the SDC, but you can be so much more than that. At any rate, don't be so naive as to think you can do as you wish with the company once you come of age – not as long as Father still has breath in his lungs. Remember, Weiss, that Mother should have inherited the business – and we know how that turned out.”

“...She was unwell,” Weiss whispers, recognizing the lie even as it passes her lips. Winter's laugh is mirthless.

“I have missed so many opportunities to guide and advise you as a sister should. Let us begin here, instead: do not trust a word Father says. Professionally and personally, he is a liar, and a bully and an expert manipulator. Take him on his word and all you will ever amount to is his pawn. Do not allow his views to colour yours, especially not when it comes to issues as complex as Faunus-human relations."

"But... the Faunus killed our associates! Adrian Umber, Violet Verano - "

" _Stop parroting his lies_. You are better than that. A small extremist faction retaliated after Father killed more than one of their own - not by his own hand, of course; that isn't his style," Winter adds, with disgust. "His conflict with the White Fang is a bloody, dangerous affair – but not nearly as black and white as he would have you and every other fool believe.”

“I am not a fool,” Weiss interrupts, indignantly.

“You are,” comes the airy reply. Winter is up and crossing again to the single-ring stove, brewing fresh coffee. “You are thirteen. Everybody is foolish at thirteen.”

Weiss sits dumbfounded while her sister busies herself in the tiny kitchenette. She'd had so many questions to ask when they were finally able to speak freely; but all of them suddenly seem trivial, superficial – and, indeed, _foolish_. Her head is a tumult of emotions as she realises the truth of Winter's words.

She had hoped to find in her sister somebody who might understand her. Instead, she has an unsettling feeling that, like the arrangements of today's meeting, Winter's comprehension of her situation far surpasses her own.

“...What do you suggest?” she manages. “What can I do? Tell me what I can learn – tell me how. Please, Winter.” Her voice wobbles. “I don't _want_ to be his pawn.”

The coffee is boiling, steam venting from the pot with a high-pitched whine. Winter turns off the gas with a faint _click_ , regarding Weiss in silence for a long moment – before smiling, much more gently than before.

“You don't have to be. Tell me, little sister: have you ever held a sword?”


End file.
